To a Scalded Dog, Even Cold Water Seems Hot
by derivatives
Summary: Tsuna looks up at the sky. It's daytime, and the sun is out. (Kyoko was a mist-sun.) "I don't want them to die," Tsuna says. Reborn smiled a wan smile, fingers tightening around the cup. "Everyone dies someday," he points out. He knows better than anyone. It's his job, after all. It's Tsuna's job, too, and by the pained look on his face, he knows it. / Crossposted on AO3


**A Cane Scottato L'acqua Fredda Pare Calda**

Kyoko is dead and Tsuna's world is coming down. Reborn knows because he was there to see it happen.

Tsuna does not scream. He does not wail nor cry nor try to pretend it didn't happen. Tsuna looks at him, eyes blank and soul rotting, and Reborn's never hated himself more.

Objectively, he knows that Tsuna's coping methods aren't healthy. _(push it down Push it down pushitdownpushit down la famiglia ha_ _ **bisogno**_ _di te)_

He also knows that his are no healthier _,_ and if he ever had the right to mentor Tsuna, to care and try to protect him, he'd lost it long ago.

He still tries. He takes Tsuna out of his room for the first time in weeks. Tsuna had holed himself up in there, signing papers and making decisions. The guardians had tried to get him out, but even they were still in mourning. It was a difficult time.

It ended when Hibari, ever the presumptuous brat, knocked down Reborn's door and threatened him. It was kind of funny to see happen, as a sort of Yamamoto-esque defence mechanism. They'd grown past the days that Hibari was too weak to defeat him. Certainly, one-on-one, Reborn was craftier and played dirtier; one-on-one prophesied certain victory. But Hibari had power over the CEDEF and even Tsuna in ways that Reborn did not, and for all his foul play, Reborn would be out of his depth. Hibari knew that. Hibari used that. (Reborn was, to some extent, proud of him.)

So Reborn, in turn, knocks down Tsuna's door and drags him to a _Vongola_ cafe after forcing him to wash up. Tsuna is uncomfortable with it, but that is nothing new. What's new is his ability to _force_ Reborn to let him go. He doesn't, of course, but Reborn can see it in his eyes. He knows it as well as Reborn does. He wants to, even just to prove that _you don't control me_. He doesn't because it would alienate Reborn, and even now, even in a moment of weakness, he chooses what's best for his _famiglia_.

People jump at the sight of them. They aren't afraid of Tsuna—or rather, they didn't think Tsuna would kill them—but it was unsettling. Unsettling to see the boss of the strongest mafia family in the world walking like a corpse, eyes deader than the vacuum of outer space, and no less cold.

It wasn't uncommon for _il consigliere_ to be close to the boss by any length of truth, but the tutor-trainee dynamic was uncertain and the power dynamic was thought to be unstable. People whispered rumours of deception; that Tsuna was but a puppet to the strings Reborn pulled. Reborn would laugh in their faces then spit on their corpses.

He sits Tsuna down and buys an espresso and a black. His guardians always thought it was funny that Tsuna took his coffee black. Reborn could sympathize. He once did, too. It used to be bitter on his tongue and burn going down. He'd been so young.

He takes a sip of the espresso. It was thin and acidic. The barista must've been new, he muses. He watches Tsuna dip a teaspoon into the sugar pot, only to absentmindedly let it trickle back out. He repeats the action.

"So," Reborn says, finally. He disapproves of dillydallying in any circumstance, but that was fragile. Tsuna was fragile.

Tsuna meets his eyes.

"So," Tsuna repeats. A wry smile etches its way onto his face. Reborn doesn't like it. He's seen the expression on too many people's faces. He's seen them drive themselves to ground, ruin themselves. He won't allow it to happen to Tsuna.

"You're not okay," Reborn says, and his voice is cool, silky, but firm. Tsuna nods.

"I'm not," he replies, almost challengingly. Reborn is unmoved.

"You will be," and it's not a statement so much as it's an order. Tsuna's smile gets more fragile at the edges, closer to shattering.

"Okay," he agrees. Had Reborn been a lesser man, he might've flinched at the absoloute submission in Tsuna's tone, the hidden undercurrents of sadness and fury and contradicting Machiavellian _leader_.

They sit in silence. Reborn stirs, then drinks more of the pisswater espresso. It's still terrible. Tsuna fidgets. Reborn might've called him out on it some long time ago, shot at him, maybe, but for now, he allows it. Tsuna's allowed to be weak right now. He waits.

"They really love me, you know?" Tsuna says. He's restless, uncomfortable. Reborn can see the caustic fear in his mannerisms, the self-loathing.

"They do," Reborn says. _I do_ , goes unsaid. Tsuna's lips twitch down. He gets the message.

"Enough to die for me," Tsuna says. Reborn nods soberly. And he would, if it were necessary. It'd been a long time since he'd found a sky like Tsuna. Like Luce. And even if they weren't harmonized, even if Tsuna already had a sun, he'd stay near. He'd make sure Tsuna doesn't fall. He'd heal, he'd help, he'd tutor. It wasn't about making Tsuna become the best mafia boss anymore. It was about helping him be it.

Tsuna looks up at the sky. It's daytime, and the sun is out. _(Kyoko was a mist-sun.)_

"I don't want them to die," Tsuna says. Reborn smiled a wan smile, fingers tightening around the cup.

"Everyone dies someday," he points out. He knows better than anyone. It's his job, after all.

It's Tsuna's job, too, and by the pained look on his face, he knows it.

Some days, it surprises Reborn that Tsuna doesn't resent him. Resent him for forcing him into the mafia, putting his friends and family in danger. As much as Tsuna knew it was outside forces—circumstance, _la Vongola Nono_ , his own fucking father—it was Reborn who introduced him to it. It was Reborn that woke him up each morning to face danger like he'd never before, to destroy organizations and people alike. To kill, to love and to kill to protect those he loved.

God, it was a miracle Tsuna doesn't hate him more than he hates himself.

"I don't want them to die for me," Tsuna says, and Reborn wants to laugh. Die for me, die for them, die for _nothing_. What the fuck was the difference? In the end, it was still death.

He doesn't say it, but something in his face must've whispered it to Tsuna. Or maybe it was that thrice-damned hyper intuition.

"It'll be my fault. It'll be on my hands," Tsuna says. "That's the difference." And Reborn thinks maybe he and Tsuna weren't so different after all.

In situations like this, Reborn wants to do nothing more than to disconnect. To look at it objectively—morals were a social construct, after all, and they don't have to apply to him. He wants to detach himself from the world. He wants a hit.

"The best you can do," Reborn says instead, "is to keep them safe. To keep them close. To make sure we always have one step over our opponents, and if we don't, _create_ one."

Tsuna mulls this over in his head for a while. Reborn takes another sip of his coffee. It's cold by now, and really, there was no allure to it at all. He drinks more.

"I could've saved Kyoko," Tsuna starts. Oh. _This_. Reborn wants dearly to smash his face in, but he bides his temper. "I should've known that-"

"No, actually," Reborn cuts in. "You couldn't have." Tsuna deflates, like he was kicked. It was rather reminiscent of times before Tsuna was _il Neo Primo._ Simpler times.

"None of our intelligence knew about the ambush. Not even," the words are bitter on his tongue, "I did. We already have running files on all the Vongola enemies. There was no word of this."

"I could've kept her safe. At home. Out of this," Tsuna says, and the dismissive misogyny, as much as it's well-meant, brings back memories of Kyoko cursing him out. It was hilarious, seeing the petite, mild-mannered girl telling him to fuck right off or she'd punt his ass all the way to Barcelona, Spain. Paraphrased, of course, but that was the gist of it.

"She was able, Tsuna." Reborn tells him. "To call her weak now is to disrespect her memory. She was ambushed. Very few people could've escaped, and she was good enough to take out half the squad before going down. Please respect her." And Tsuna is silent. Reborn thinks he might see tears, but Tsuna is looking down, and Reborn is courteous enough not to look.

"You're not the only one hurting, Tsuna," Reborn says, as gently as he can. "You can't lock yourself in your room any longer. It's disservice to everyone; your famiglia, your guardians, Kyoko herself." And Reborn knows he's being unfair, capitalizing on Tsuna's loss to force him back to his famiglia. Kicking him while he's down.

Being consigliere never was about what was best for the boss. It was for the famiglia. He'd long learned that. But it doesn't stop him from reaching over to Tsuna to rub his back as crystalline tears fell and shattered. He takes Tsuna back home, leaving a half-finished espresso and an untouched black. He lets him sleep it off, even while knowing that it wouldn't be better in the morning.

In the morning, it isn't better. Not for Tsuna, anyways. But Reborn knows it'll pass. He'll grow, and while the scars, too, will only grow in quantity over time, this one in particular will be dwarfed by Tsuna's growth.

And he thinks, maybe, he could be proud.

 **FIN**


End file.
